


Royal AU Snippets

by glim



Series: royal au [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small snippets of fic set in a modern royal au where Arthur is Prince of Wales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He can't do this. All his life, he's been given nearly everything he's ever wanted, but this. This he can't just ask for or take or … He's not even sure it would ever be offered to him._

Arthur waits until he's dismissed his valet before he turns back to Merlin.

Who's sitting on Arthur's bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning, loud and long and luxurious, like he's just had the best sleep of his life.

Which is unfair, given that Arthur spent six hours last night in a state of half-asleep, exhausted, near delirium, wondering why it was suddenly so hard to rest with the warm curve of his best friend's body next to his.

The desire to run the palm of his hand down Merlin's side or the tips of his fingers through the disheveled mess of Merlin's hark hair gathers inside Arthur. It blooms warm inside his chest, tingles a little through his hands, a rush of excitement that quickly settles at the pit of his stomach, heavy and dreadful.

He can't do this. All his life, he's been given nearly everything he's ever wanted, but this. This he can't just ask for or take or … He's not even sure it would ever be offered to him.

He pushes the dreadful heavy feeling away and lets it flare into anger.

"You don't need to come. I'm not…" He waves his hand, the movement vague, but bordering on dismissive. "Some responsibility of yours. You're not even awake, Merlin."

"What? I don't know – I'm up." Merlin untangles the blankets from his legs to stand from the bed, then stretch and scratch his chest. "Is that tea?" he asks, picks up Arthur's half-finished cup to drink, and, when he notices the look on Arthur's face, adds, "What? What's wrong?"

 _The press think we're together. Half of Britain believe we're a couple,_ Arthur doesn't reply. Nor does he say, _You do that every morning, stand and yawn and stretch and blink around the room, muzzy and sleep-wrinkled._

"You don't even like museums." _You like gardens, and wide-open spaces, the grass and trees and god only knows what you'll do with a degree in botany._ "And you hate sitting in the limousine for hours on end." _You'll fall asleep and look annoyed when I wake you._ "And, besides, you're not really my travel companion, no matter what the tabloids call you."

"Oh. That." Merlin shrugs. "Actually, I totally am. I'm not bothered, though. I'd've stopped going to museum openings and charity banquets with you ages ago if I really didn't want to." Another stretching yawn and Merlin walks over to rest his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "All right?"

The flare of anger dies as suddenly as it rose. Arthur smiles, resigned to the new heaviness inside him, and leans into Merlin's touch as long as it lingers. "Fine. Go, shower and dress. And no ridiculous jumpers or fingerless gloves. Please tell me you brought sensible clothes."


	2. concert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ten minutes before the event starts, Arthur's secretary is ready to kill him. Five minutes later, Arthur's nearly ready to kill Merlin._

Ten minutes before the event starts, Arthur's secretary is ready to kill him. Five minutes later, Arthur's nearly ready to kill Merlin.

Who, of course, rushes in about thirty seconds after that, disheveled and out of breath, apologizing to whomever he can as he walks over to Arthur.

"You _live_ in Cambridge. How could you possibly manage to be late?"

"Have you started?"

"Well. No. But the concert -"

"So, I'm not really late. Did anyone really need me for anything earlier?" He gives Arthur a slightly worried look, then grins when Arthur just huffs out a sigh in reply. "There. See. Everything's fine."

"Everything is... Really, Merlin. You could make an effort."

Merlin looks suitably contrite, at least for about a half-minute, so Arthur takes pity on him and takes it upon himself try and smooth Merlin's hair and clothes into some semblance of order. Not that there's much he can do, but Arthur takes a few moments to run his palm over Merlin's hair, and a few more to fix his scarf, make sure his shirt's buttoned up the right way, and tug at the lapels of his jacket.

There's a murmur of voices around them (one of which probably belongs to his secretary, having his weekly coronary), and Arthur's vaguely aware of someone laughing. At the way he fusses over Merlin, at the way the prince fusses over this half-breathless, hapless university student who's seen more of Arthur over the years than anyone in the royal household.

He sets his jaw to keep from smiling at Merlin and moves closer under the pretense of having to straighten Merlin's scarf again. "You look ridiculous in this."

"You're the one wearing a waistcoat."

"Ah, but I look handsome. You look _ridiculous_. Utterly."

"Have you been looking at websites dedicated to you again?"

Arthur tugs on the scarf hard enough to make Merlin complain, but relents when his eyes drop down to examine the pale skin of Merlin's neck. This close, Arthur can smell the faintly soapy-clean scent of his skin and can easily remember what it feels like to bury himself in that scent, to press his face to Merlin's stomach and coax Merlin to arch up even nearer to him by mouthing against the angle of his hip.

Above them, the sky is streaked with the pinks and purples of a springtime sunset, and the garden around them is green and damp with new life. Arthur's hands rest for a moment more on Merlin's chest, then for an even shorter moment his fingertips brush against Merlin's. This time, he allows himself a smile when one of Merlin's fingers hooks around his to catch Arthur off guard and there's a flicker of fondness in Merlin's eyes.

"Am I presentable now?"

"I don't think we can expect anything better than this."

There's champagne and a string quartet waiting for them, and Arthur's certain he can feel his secretary glaring at him, but he only steps away from Merlin once he's sure that nobody else can see the grey tee shirt beneath Merlin's scarf and button up, the same one Arthur tossed to Merlin's floor last night before pressing his body, warm and eager, against Merlin's.


	3. photoshoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Your hands are cold," he murmured, then added, "I don't want to fight about this."_

"Oh my god, no."

"Merlin..." Arthur followed Merlin from the sitting room into the bedroom and watched as Merlin started to pull off his clothes. "It's not that bad."

"Yes it is. You're just -- See. This is another one of those things." Merlin waved one hand at Arthur before tugging off his hat and scarf, turning to Arthur while he tried to smooth down his fluffed-up hair. "One of those things that you don't care about, but that's just frustrating to me."

"What do you mean I don't _care_? Of course I care."

Merlin groaned and scrubbed both hands through his hair. This was at least the second, probably the third, time this week he'd come to Clarence House after work to spend the evening with Arthur and was met with some new royal responsibility or duty he was suddenly expected to take on. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes didn't make the headache that was starting to throb through his head go away; lowering his hands and blinking a few times made it obvious that the look of confusion and hurt hadn't disappeared from Arthur's face, either.

"I didn't meant it like that, like you don't care." Merlin took off his coat and draped it over one of the chairs in Arthur's bedroom. Next to him, Arthur let out a sigh of exhaustion laced through with the frustration that had been building since they announced their engagement. "Arthur, don't start. You know that I know that you care. But this isn't new to you -- you've done this before. Do you even realize how many photographs there are of you standing around looking handsome?"

That at least got a tiny smile from Arthur before he shook his head at Merlin. "Right, but how many are there of me standing around looking handsome next to my fiance?"

"Um. A few?"

"None. Because we weren't engaged yet. And --"

"-- and I don't understand why I can't just wear my own casual clothes for the 'casual' part of this photoshoot? And what does that even mean? How do photoshoots have formal and causal aspects?"

Arthur frowned at Merlin and they stood there, glaring at each other for a minute until Arthur gave another sigh and walked right up to Merlin, tugged on the hem of his jumper, and waited until Merlin glanced down at it. "Merlin. I love your scruffy jumpers and haphazard outfits and even that ancient coat that you wear when you go to work in the greenhouses. I even love your odd socks and the two suits you seem to mix and match for formal occasions. But."

"Arthur..." Merlin felt like sighing himself this time. There was, technically, nothing wrong with _any_ of his clothes. He'd been to any number of events with Arthur wearing them, from museum openings to charity dinners to sporting events. "I have a few --"

"What if I pick something out for you?" Arthur asked and the words practically spilled out, as if he were worried Merlin would interrupt him before he could get the question out. "What if I just pick out a few things and you can decide which you like best, and then the photographer and my secretary and you and I will all be happy. Please? I promise you don't have to wear anything you don't like and you can keep all of what you do like and if you want to wear that blue jumper you adore in one of the shots, honestly, that should be fine."

The frustration had faded from Arthur's voice and expression, though the exhaustion lingered, now matched with a spark of hopefulness. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes and his hair was ruffled up a little, but he was smiling and reaching to put both his arms around Merlin's waist. He nuzzled against Merlin's ear teasingly, then rested his head against Merlin's shoulder.

"If it were just you and I, you'd totally let me get my picture taken in my scruffy jumper and old jeans, right?" Merlin asked and found both his hands slipping up under Arthur's jumper to warm them against his skin.

"Hm. Probably?" Arthur tucked his face against Merlin's neck. "Your hands are cold," he murmured, then added, "I don't want to fight about this."

There, if Merlin had had any real doubt that Arthur cared about all these little things, like Merlin suddenly needing new clothes for engagement photographs to be released by Clarence House, then that doubt would've been erased by the quiet plea in Arthur's voice.

"Neither do I. Are you sure I can't just wear whatever? The grey jumper you got me for Christmas?"

"Mm... maybe? I'll pick you out a couple other things like that, though."

"Well. I'm seriously dubious about all this, but all right."

*

"Oh." Merlin blinked down at the spread of photographs in from of himself and Arthur. "They're..."

"Wonderful," Arthur said. "They're _wonderful_."

Merlin just blinked again. After dozens of emailed links to a variety of shirts, jackets, scarves, jumpers, and trousers, and after two lunches full of negotiations with Arthur, he'd finally agreed to a few soft, worn-looking pieces in various shades of blue and grey. The clothes Arthur had chosen for him weren't much different from any that he might've bought for himself if he'd the time and money to do that sort of shopping.

Separating out the more formal pictures -- Arthur in one his handsome, dark suits and Merlin in a more relaxed grey jacket and scarf -- Merlin picked out a few of them from the more casual set of photographs.

"This one," Merlin said and pointed to one where they sat, curled into each other, Arthur in one of the dark red, soft cashmere jumpers that Merlin secretly adored and Merlin still in the blue scarf, but with the grey jumper he'd suggested earlier. It was probably one of the last pictures they'd had taken and they were both tired, but happy and relaxed, and the smile on Arthur's face was so warm, so genuine and fond. He'd probably realized that as the photograph was being taken, because his own expression was all melting adoration and pride and affection. "Right. This one?"

A tiny frown creased Arthur's forehead as he examined the picture. He smiled, then ducked his head, and nodded. "Right." He took it from Merlin's hands and placed it aside. "Now, pick one for the media release."


	4. phone call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Merlin blinks and runs one hand through his hair and finds that, for the first time since it happened, he can see with a clarity that is both pleasing and strange how his life has altered._

"… mph… huh?" Half-asleep and unwilling to become any more fully awake, Merlin fumbles at the night table by the bed. Something's ringing at him and he's pretty sure it's not his alarm because …

… because it's his iPhone, he finally realizes, cursing when trying to untangle himself from the blankets causes him to knock his glasses off the table. When he finally locates the mobile phone, he curses again. This phone – this stupidly decadent, shiny, expensive mobile phone – is smarter than he is. Probably, it's plotting to kill him in his sleep, after keeping him up too late playing random games because he's not used to spending the night in this huge bed by himself yet.

He answers when blinking and squinting in the early morning light tells him that it's Arthur ringing him. "Hello? Is everything… you're all right?"

"Hello – I'm fine, Merlin. How are you – oh, no, you're sleeping, aren't you?"

"Well, obviously not anymore…" Merlin peers at the faint light that creeps around the window and between that and the numbers he can almost make out on the alarm, he decides it's not quite dawn. "At least you managed to call closer to morning than usual."

"I'm sorry, I thought, god, I'm not even sure I know what time it is here, no wonder I can't remember what time it is in London." Arthur sighs and Merlin hears him tell somebody else that he's busy and will need a few minutes. "I'm sorry I woke you," he says again, "I just… I wanted to talk to you."

"It's fine, really. Arthur, you're really all right? And – " Merlin says, then stops. A million questions run through his sleep-befuddled mind –

 _– and have you even been sleeping? What about eating – I know they feed you, have you bothered to touch any of it between talking to everyone? Do you miss me? What time is your flight and do you think you'll have terrible jetlag and will they let me wait for you at the airport and have you had any time to yourself and –_

– piling one on top of the other until he can't sort out the questions he ought to ask from the ones he desperately wants to.

"Arthur," he tries again and lets his eyes fall shut at the soft, deep 'hmm' sound Arthur gives in reply, "I'll see you soon, right?"

"Of course you will." Arthur's voice is still soft and low and Merlin can tell he's rung Merlin while he's in the middle of doing something else, something princely. There's a flurry of noise and bustle in the background and Arthur's words take on a the edge of secrecy when he says, "Not soon enough, though. I've been missing you today…"

"When you get home – "

"When I get home…"

Merlin holds his breath, eyes shut again, and holds onto the moment because he knows it won't last – there won't be a private, secret afternoon waiting for them, and there won't be a hushed moment in the airport where he sees Arthur and they move towards each other, no moment like in films and fairy tales.

Merlin squeezes his eye shut, then sits up in bed and scrubs the sleep from them. He's awake now that he's heard Arthur's voice and sleep's just not going to happen again any time soon.

He lets out his breath with an audible exhalation and starts to search for his glasses.

There will be other moments.

"We have that lunch at the London Transport Museum," Merlin says, and smiles when he hears Arthur groan a little. "It won't be so bad. I'll give the little speech and be a proper royal consort."

"Right, that, just a few hours after I get off the plane from Sydney." Arthur groans again, and, really, it's more of an exhausted sigh than a groan. He'll be shattered when he gets back to London, Merlin can already tell. "I'll sound terrible and probably look even worse."

"You could cancel?" Merlin suggests and knows before Arthur says anything that he's not even considering that option. "Maybe they'll let us leave early, then? And after that? We'll come right back to the house."

"And you'll cook me dinner?"

"Absolutely not." Merlin tucks his mobile against his shoulder, hunts down one of Arthur's robes, and starts making his way from the bedroom to the kitchenette as he tugs it on. "Do you want to put the kitchen staff out of work?"

"That's a husbandly thing to do, cook dinner and rub my shoulders. I work very hard, you know."

"Hm. I could say the same thing."

Arthur's quiet for a few seconds and Merlin hears him bring his own mobile closer to his face. "I'll rub your shoulders."

And that, there in the combination of the soft, secret tone of Arthur's voice is an even softer promise that Arthur makes to him: that he'll be home soon, that he'll go to yet another formal event where he'll sit next to Merlin, pose for photographs with Merlin, and then come home with Merlin, where he'll rest his hands on Merlin's shoulders and pull him closer until Merlin melts beneath his touch.

Merlin listens to the steady inhale and exhale of Arthur's breathing before he can gather up enough of himself to say, "I'm holding you to that."

"Good." Arthur laughs.

"Come home soon, all right?"

"I will."

Merlin waits until Arthur ends the call to put his mobile down on the counter-top. It's six in the morning, and he's standing in the middle of the tiny, cold kitchen, his hair a wild mess, his feet bare, and one of his husband's warm robes wrapped haphazardly around his body. He takes a moment to close his eyes again, lean against the counter, and remember what it's like to stand there and have Arthur's arms around him, his head on his shoulder, holding him in that ridiculously fond way he has sometimes whilst they wait for the kettle to boil.

Merlin blinks and runs one hand through his hair and finds that, for the first time since it happened, he can see with a clarity that is both pleasing and strange how his life has altered.

He's married to the Prince of Wales and though nearly everything in his life is different, there is nothing that he would change back.


End file.
